


hallelujah is our song

by moonyloonylupin



Series: The Nelson & Murdock Holiday Extravaganza [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Easter Sunday, I haven't been to Easter mass or any mass since like 2005, I originally wrote Easter Sinday, Inaccurate Catholicism, M/M, Meet the Parents-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-18 03:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonyloonylupin/pseuds/moonyloonylupin
Summary: Matt and Foggy are a little fuzzy on the details of their relationship, but they know there'ssomethingthere.They're just not sure what, exactly. Maybe they should talk? (Maybe not during communion, though.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a Pope John Paul II quote that I've most likely taken out of context.

Matt wakes up in the morning to the soft sound of Foggy snoring against his collarbone and their legs tangled together. He reaches a hand over to his nightstand for his watch and feels out the numbers, sighing a little when he realizes he overslept and needs to get going soon. He decides he'll just stop for a cup of coffee instead of wasting time in the kitchen. It gives him more time to wrap himself around Foggy and press gentle kisses to his hair.

Easter Sunday has always been a soft, still day for him. He keeps himself relatively unscathed so that he can look his best, especially considering the amount of people that end up at the church on Easter, as opposed to the many other Sundays and the dozens of other masses that Matt frequents when he can, from Wednesday afternoons after he's just woken up from a dead sleep to Saturday nights before he goes out. 

Foggy is dead to the world, as he is most Sunday mornings, so he doesn't react when Matt slides out of bed, or when Matt jumps into the shower, or while Matt shrugs on his suit, or when Matt presses a soft, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. He pushes Foggy's hair out of his face and watches him nuzzle into Matt's pillow, stretching out in the now empty space. 

He leaves a post-it note on the screen of Foggy's phone, shakily scrawls, " _@ mass. c u @ 11_ ," and heads out. 

It's brisk, but sunny. Matt can feel it warming his skin as he makes his way to the bodega on the corner for his usual large, black, two sugars. The owner grunts, slides his coffee across the counter, and Matt tips his cane in good morning. He gets it. He'd still be sleeping himself if it wasn't Easter Sunday. 

When he gets to the church, Father Lantom is outside greeting parishioners, shaking hands and patting backs and ruffling hair. The altar boys and the ushers are working double time, hurrying families into pews and pointing out bathrooms and exits. Easter Sunday always brings an influx of young catholic families trying to get into the habit of actually going to church every Sunday. Matt doesn't know why they start with Easter mass - the longest mass of the year, besides Christmas Eve. It seems like a sure fire means of absolute failure. 

Anyway, he can't judge them for it. He hasn't been to mass in a while. He even missed Palm Sunday this year. Foggy had wrapped himself around Matt, pulling himself over him and settling on his hips with the prettiest laugh Matt's ever heard. And he's heard plenty. Though Matt's hearing usually brings sirens and screams and sobbing, he also occasionally gets good things. Foggy's laugh is always pure and unencumbered, and the way it vibrates through Matt when Foggy's straddling him? Nothing else like it. 

So, yea. He's missed a few services. It won't be the worst thing he's ever done. 

Father Lantom must spot him standing out of the way, on the sidewalk, cradling his cardboard coffee cup, because Matt hears him excuse himself from the greeting line and walk over. 

Matt's highly aware of the people around them, watching, so he lifts his head just a fraction in greeting, but waits for Father Lantom is announce himself. 

"G'morning, Matthew," he says, and stands in front of Matt, blocking him from view. 

"Father." 

Matt has not seen Father Lantom in quite sometime. 

"Y' got a little," he doesn't finish the sentence, just pulls a handkerchief out from his cassock and brushes it against Matt's temple. 

"I think it might just be a scrape, Father. I didn't smell any -" he cuts himself off as a family with a toddler walks past. He can hear the swish of her hair as she looks up at him. "Blood," he finishes when they're far enough away. 

"Mm. Seems you're right." Father Lantom tucks the handkerchief away and folds his hands together in front of him. His sleeves drape over his knuckles. "It's been a while. How've you been?" 

Letting out a breath, Matt taps his cane against the metal of the fence, feeling the minute vibrations travel up his fingertips and wake up his nerve endings. "I've been well, actually. Sorry I haven't been around much. Foggy and I've -" He stops again, not sure how to proceed. Father Lantom knows about Foggy, knows about their falling out and their making up, though Matt's kept the dirty details to himself. Father knows that he and Foggy have been. 

Well. They have been something. 

"Ahh. So where _is_ you're partner?" 

Trust Father Lantom to make it easy. _Partner_. Unassuming, easy to gloss over if Matt needed to. Good use of language. "He's still sleeping," Matt says and he knows his smile comes out a little more besotted than he'd intended, because Father Lantom scoffs, an affectionate sound. 

"So he's actively sinning." 

"Oh, absolutely," Matt laughs. 

Father Lantom hums. "Then when am I going to meet him?" 

"Never, if I can help it." Matt mutters petulantly. He takes one more long pull from his coffee before he tosses it into the trash can by the gate with unerring accuracy. "You gonna lead me in or what, Father?" 

"You're an insufferable brat, you know that? I liked you better when you were brooding." But Father sticks out his elbow for Matt to take, and Matt folds up his cane with a quick snap and lets Father Lantom lead him inside. 

  
###

Foggy wakes up alone. 

Which isn't particularly weird for a Sunday. Hasn't been weird since Columbia. Foggy may be the one waking Matt up Monday through Saturday, but Sundays are Foggy's day to sleep forever with no consequences. (Or at least until he gets a text from Karen yelling at him for being late for brunch.) 

It's just the first Sunday in almost a month that he's woken up alone and without Matt's early morning Sunday sounds. He doesn't hear the shower running or the tell-tale sizzle of bacon in a pan or even the radio, which Matt has taken to listening to and humming along with in the mornings. It's one of those new quirks of his, one that Foggy discovered the Sunday morning after St. Paddy's Day when he'd stayed the whole weekend in Matt's bed. He hasn't really left it since. He's been paying rent for dust motes, at this point. 

Matt doesn't have any curtains on his windows still, and Foggy thinks that if he's going to be here as often as he has been that he's gonna have to change that real soon, because the early morning sunlight is shining into his eyes. He's warm, cuddled up in Matt's sheets, and he doesn't really feel like getting up, but he needs to know what time it is so he can allot the proper amount of time for lazing and then rushing to that diner on 14th that Karen's fond of. 

He groans as he sits up, stretches, and cracks his back, before turning to grab his phone and finding the pink post-it on the screen. 

_@ mass. c u @ 11_

It doesn't immediately register. Matt doesn't go to mass early as often anymore; most of the time, as far as Foggy knows, Matt will go for a walk in the early evening and be gone for a while and then he'll come back smelling like the chai tea lattes Father Lantom has taken to making for him and Foggy will know where he's been and he doesn't ask. How and when and where Matt decides to unload his sins is none of Foggy's agnostic business. 

Except today is Easter.

"Sonuvabitch." Foggy pushes himself out of bed and is instantly grateful that he hung up his suit from Friday night, because now he doesn't have to stop at his apartment for something to wear. As he’s pulling on his pants, he yells at his phone from across the room to call Karen. 

“ _Calling Karen Page ballpoint pen. Rolled up newspaper. Cat face._ ” 

While it rings, he shoves a wet toothbrush in his mouth because he can’t afford to accidentally get toothpaste all over the front of his shirt like he will no doubt do because that’s the kind of morning he’s currently having. He’s just tucking his shirt into his pants when she picks up with a muttered, “ _Hullo? Foggy?_ ” 

“Hey Kare Bear,” he says, a little strangled as he knots up his tie and shoves a foot into one of his dress shoes, which somehow found its way underneath Matt’s nightstand even though Foggy makes sure all of his things end up on his side of the room (and, really, he has his own side, this is too much to think about this early on a Sunday morning). “Listen, I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on today’s brunch.” 

“ _Wut?_ ” She sounds like she’s still asleep. Foggy hopes she actually remembers this conversation later, or he’s in for a lecture and a half. 

“I’ll tell you the story later. This is me telling you to go back to sleep and not get up for brunch.” 

“ _Mmhmm,_ ” is all she says before she trails off into the soft sound of her breathing on the other end of the line. 

"Yea, okay, nice to hear from you, too! Okay! Bye!" But Foggy's pulling on his other shoe and raking a hand through his hair, so he can't actually hang up the phone and wow this morning is a mess. It's fine. Whatever. 

He almost forgets his phone on the way out the door.

###

Matt hears Foggy’s heartbeat from a couple blocks down, during the Eucharistic prayer.

He's not surprised, really, that Foggy came to him. Foggy doesn't like to be left alone in the mornings, especially lately, and _especially_ after they'd spent most of the night with each other's dicks in their mouths. Matt doesn't necessarily leave him on purpose, but there was a Sunday morning where he had noticed that he didn't have anything even remotely edible in his refrigerator. So he'd gone out to buy some essentials from the bodega around the corner and had come back to Foggy stomping around his apartment with his shirt half on, fuming about vigilantes and their goddamn emotional constipation. 

Matt had pulled him in for a kiss with an arm around his neck and told him to get comfy while he made him an omelet, and he hasn't left Foggy to wake up alone in his apartment since. 

So Foggy's emotions might be a little wobbly, and Matt's are built upon a tentative foundation at best, but they're there and they're real and he wants to do something about them. He does. It's just a little scary right now. 

He says, "Amen," just as Foggy tiptoes his way into the foyer. Matt turns his head a little toward the front doors so Foggy can catch the side of his face and slide into the pew next to him. 

"You're a fff -" Foggy starts to say, but Matt arches an eyebrow at him and the little old lady on Matt's other side leans over to glare at him. "Frog," he finishes lamely. 

"A frog?" Matt whispers back. His other eyebrow is slowly joining the first. 

"Yes, Murdock. A _frog_. For leaving me in bed instead of bringing me with you!" Foggy refuses to blush at the look the little old lady throws at him when he says that. Yes, they were in bed together this morning, it's 2017, Foggy doesn't care _who_ the goddamn president is, get over it. 

"I didn't want to wake you," Matt says. His hands are clasped in front of him, and he's mouthing along to the prayers. Foggy has no idea where they are in the service, but there are people in the front of the procession leaving their pews and lining up on either side of the church. Foggy watches them go, their hands folded in front of them. Mothers and fathers lead their children forward with gentles hands on their shoulders, little girls dressed in a sea of pastel sundresses and pink and white hair bows and frilly socks; little boys in smart little suits with their hair pushed back. Foggy's never been to Matt's church before, has only passed it on the street with the vague thought of " _this is where Matt disappears to_." It's a very Matt-like place, with dark stone walls and exposed rafters high above their heads. The pews are worn but warm and the stained glass windows let in colorful rainbows of sunlight. It's a little cold - stone walls make for poor insulation - but Foggy can see how a place like this would be calming for Matt. Sound echoes in broad arcs, the murmur of prayers a sound that encompasses them. 

Foggy turns to tell Matt that he should've woken him, he would've come _with_ him, but Matt places a hand on his elbow instead and says, "I have to go take communion." 

"Oh." Foggy knows what that is, but he never really knew what it entailed. He notices that the pews in front of them are empty, the people filing out of them slowly. The old lady behind Matt makes an impatient sound. 

"It won't take long." Matt gives him a small smile and squeezes his elbow. Foggy steps quickly out of the pew, brushing the back of his hand over Matt's hip as he passes. 

"Okay," Foggy whispers, and he knows Matt can hear him, but it still feels a little like he's talking to himself. He watches the people that were closer to the front of the line sidle back into their pews, taking a moment to bend and make the sign of the cross at the corner of the pew before sliding down to their seat. Foggy sees them kneel, though some stay sitting. Children fold their hands together and place them on the back of the pew in front of them and bow their heads in the kind of seriousness that only a child can reserve for essentially talking to themselves. 

He makes a vague gesture up, down, right, then left, a hasty sign of the cross, and then sits back down. 

It takes him a moment to find Matt in the line but when he does, it's all he can see The church isn't _too_ big; he can still make out most of Matt's features from this far away. The way his shoulders slope, a little tense. The way his hands twist around the handle of his cane. But his head is cocked toward Foggy, so Foggy talks to him. 

"You look great in that suit, by the way, you fucking asshole. Which is what I was _going_ to say, instead of frog. I'm assuming that's your Easter Sunday best, because you never wore _that_ to work." 

Though Matt's a little further up the line than he was before, Foggy can see the way his mouth twitches. 

"Enjoy your Jesus cracker, you cannibal. Say hi to God for me." 

Matt has to smother his laugh with a fist, three people away from the altar boys assisting. 

###

Matt and Foggy stand off to the side of the altar while they wait for Father Lantom to stop schmoozing. The longer he takes, the more nervous Foggy becomes. He knows Father Lantom is a pretty chill dude - he's gotta be, since he knows about Daredevil. And he's not going to delude himself into thinking Matt hasn't talked to him about Foggy because of course he has, his past, present, and future, of which Foggy has been and will be in all of them. He's also not going to pretend that the Father hasn't been clued into the nature of their relationship which, to be fair, Foggy isn't too sure about, but he knows it's intimate. Sexual. Possibly romantic? They haven't talked about it. 

Shit, he's gonna have to shake Father Lantom's hand. Foggy's hands are sweating, he can feel it. 

When he goes to wipe his hands on the backs of his slacks, like he usually does, Matt takes one in his own and laces their fingers together. He holds on tight. 

"Dude, my hands are so sweaty," Foggy murmurs. 

Matt just gives his hand a firm squeeze. 

"I know. I'm keeping it dry for you." 

"The possibility of your priest and the entire congregation turning around and seeing us holding hands is possibly making me sweat _more_ ," Foggy hisses, but he doesn't tug his hand away. He watches the way Matt's forehead furrows. 

"Why?" 

Foggy lets out a rough sigh. "Because I wasn't sure if this was a public, meet-the-parents type situation. I am ill-prepared. I just wanted you to know that... I'm in this, buddy. For all the holidays. Cinco de Mayo. Memorial Day. Fucking Flag Day, if you wanna do something special for that. I want to go to mass with you on Christmas Eve, even though I'll probably fall asleep and you'll have to stop me from snoring." 

Matt's quiet for a moment, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of Foggy's hand. All the other patrons have mostly left and the altar boys are giving them shifty eyes. 

"Meet the parents?" Matt asks quietly, and Foggy groans. 

" _That's_ what you got from that? Not me talking about wanting to basically spend the rest of my life with you?" 

Matt's smile is early morning soft which should, quite frankly, be impossible and illegal. 

"No, no, I heard that part. I have no reservations and raise no objections. And he knows... About you. Us." Foggy turns his head, on-lookers be damned, and presses his lips to the scrape at Matt's temple. Matt doesn't stumble or hesitate in the slightest. "It's just that Father Lantom's not my..." 

The words " _real father_ " hang in the air, unsaid. Foggy nuzzles his nose into Matt's hair 

"I know. And I'm not saying he's a substitute for your dad, because that's shitty and that's not what I mean, but," Foggy shrugs, "He's as good as. At least until you're ready to introduce me to your dad for real." 

Foggy has been to Fogwell's, which is almost like being introduced to Jack Murdock, but not quite. And Foggy's probably seen his grave, from a distance, during funerals attended throughout the years. But Matt has never once, on purpose, brought Foggy to him. Foggy knows he visits, another one of the many reasons that Matt disappears so often, but Foggy doesn't bring it up. Any time they're ever talked about Matt's dad, it was because Matt initiated and, usually, Foggy just listened. 

Until now. 

Foggy really wishes he could see Matt's eyes right now, because the way his mouth is set, coupled with his unwavering grip on Foggy's hand, is giving nothing away. Did he just upset him? Has he fucked it up forever? 

"He's coming," Foggy tells him, quiet against his hair, even though he knows Matt knows. "If you want me to bail now, I can." 

Instead, Matt gives a small shake of his head and brings their joined hands up to place a kiss on the back of Foggy's hand. He must know that Father Lantom can see them. Foggy can't interpret the look on the man's face. 

Father Lantom glides over to them, the last of the congregation filing out and the altar boys and ushers following them after a short nod from the priest. He says, “Matthew,” significantly, and smiles politely at Foggy. 

"Father," Matt says and takes a deep, deep breath like Foggy's seen him do at Fogwell's, like he's getting ready to ride out a punch. "Father Lantom, this is Foggy Nelson, my former law partner..." 

Foggy takes a deep, deep breath of his own, getting ready to ride out a punch of heartache, but then he sees the way Matt smiles all the way up to his eyes. He can catch a hint of the wrinkles beneath his glasses. "And my _partner_ partner." 

"Boyfriend works just as well, Matty." Foggy tries to be cavalier about it, but he's sure he misses it by a mile. 

"Ahh, yes, I appreciate the distinction, thank you," Father Lantom says, leveling Matt with a calculating stare. Foggy likes the way this guy talks, isn't afraid to let his tone read _Matthew, you utter shit_. "Father Lantom," he says by way of introduction, and makes a gesture toward their entwined hands. "I'd shake your hand, but I'm afraid Matthew's keeping it hostage. I'm not going to steal him, my boy." 

And Foggy _laughs_ , long and loud at the shit-eating grin on Father Lantom's face and the way the apples of Matt's cheeks light up. His voice travels, echoing off the stone walls of the church, reverberating back at them and filling him up with so much calm and pure, unadulterated _joy_ that he swoops in to give Matt a kiss, smiley and open-mouthed and the most uncoordinated thing he's ever done, he's sure. 

Father Lantom smiles, something soft this time. 

"C'mon, love birds. I restocked the coffee and tea the other day. I've got white chocolate now." 

"Ooh, yes, Father! Lay it on me." 

" _Foggy_."

**Author's Note:**

> This one was kinda hard but still, didn't I tell y'all you could count on me for holiday shenanigans?
> 
> Meet the Parents-ish, because Foggy will meet Matt's dad probably on Memorial Day, who knows, but Father Lantom is a close second.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](moonyloonylupin.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> Happy Easter to those who celebrate! Happy Bunny Day to those who don't! Don't buy your children rabbits for Easter unless you think they're prepared to handle that kind of responsibility! Thank you!!!!!


End file.
